


to love without knowing how

by 99izm, slackeuse



Category: NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: 2park are stupid, Angst, Fake Dating, M/M, a lot of 2park bickering, cameos by nuest bts wanna one and some fantagio kids, featuring strip clubs getting drunk don't drink too much kids night clubs dancing more drinking, fluff at the end, onghwang are getting married, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13099179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99izm/pseuds/99izm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/slackeuse/pseuds/slackeuse
Summary: When Park Woojin accidentally hits ex-boyfriend Park Jihoon with his car and breaks his arm, he agrees to help him with anything he needs. He does not expect Jihoon to ask him to be his fake boyfriend so he can attend his step brother Seongwoo's wedding and escape Seongwoo's ridicule.





	to love without knowing how

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wflhsd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wflhsd/gifts).



> hopefully this is everything you wanted ♡

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,  
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:  
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,  
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries  
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,  
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose  
from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,  
I love you directly without problems or pride:  
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,  
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,  
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,  
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII  
Pablo Neruda, translated by Mark Eisner

 

 

 

 

**_Woojin_ **

It’s been awhile since Woojin was last back in Busan. It was a long drive from Seoul, and Woojin can feel the stiffness of his muscles. He did take some breaks in between, at rest stops, but there was a steady drumming within him that was excited to be back in Busan.

Parking is harder to find than what Woojin last remembers. He had told his older friends, Donghyun and Youngmin that he’d be back in town for the week, and they had insisted that they meet up over a cup of coffee at the cafe that contained memories of the past that a part of Woojin wants to forget.

He parks his car at the open space that’s several streets down from the hole-in-the-wall cafe, hidden inside the many small streets in the city. When he gets out of his car, he’s hit with the smell of salty seawater, but there’s a certain freshness about it that’s different from the stale Seoul air that brings a smile to his face.

It’s a short walk to the cafe, and Woojin finds himself remembering how it’s a path that he and _he_ would walk together, hand in hand in the throes of a passionate summer. But it’s all in the past now, and Woojin finds himself standing in front of the cafe before he even expects it.

“You’re here!”

Donghyun stands up from where they have been waiting, waving Woojin over when he steps into the cafe. The cafe is warmer than outside, granted that it’s the winter months. Youngmin and Donghyun are smiling, pulling him into an awkward hug, but his heart feels swollen and warm with love.

“It’s been so long,” Youngmin remarks, ruffling Woojin’s hair.

“Yeah,” Donghyun adds. “You have to update us with what’s happening in your life.”

Woojin smiles at them both, and he nods. They settle in their seats by the window side after Woojin gets a cup of hot coffee for himself. Their conversation is smooth, like running water, and it almost feels like time had stopped, and they are back in the days of playing video games in the basement of Youngmin’s house while throwing popcorn at each other.

They are all adults now, but it’s like they never had to grow up.

“Thanks for agreeing to send us back,” Donghyun says from behind, pulling the seat belt over himself.

“No problem,” Woojin smiles at them.

It’s strange how he’s the youngest among them all, but he’s the one who’s sending his hyungs home. It was nice, really, to be able to catch up with his hyungs after the many months of being in Seoul.

He had been wondering if it was right for him to come back to Busan, for _his_ brother’s wedding but if anything else happened, he would at least have this memory with Donghyun and Youngmin remaining within him.

He’s nearing a cross section, one of the smaller ones, when he hears a gasp from next to him. It forces Woojin to turn to his side for a second as Youngmin gasps, “Hey, isn’t that Jihoon?”

“What?”

It’s that very moment when he takes his eyes off the road for a second, that he hears the _bang!_ of a collision that makes him sick to his stomach.

“Oh my god, Woojin!”

_Fuckfuckfuck, please, no, no, NO—_

Woojin can feel the suffocating air grow from within him, starting from his lungs and threatening to swallow him whole. It’s hard for him to maintain a grip on the wheel, when his hands are shaking badly and his heart feels like it could escape from his throat from how quickly it’s pounding against his chest. Breathing suddenly feels utterly foreign, and he forgets how it’s like to take in the oxygen in the air and release it.

And it’s Youngmin’s hand on his shoulder that grounds him back to reality and reminds him to take large gulps of air.

“Woojin,” Youngmin’s voice sounds distant, even though he’s just sitting next to him. “Take deep breaths, okay? Breath in, _breath out_.”

He tries to tune into Youngmin’s voice, and he nods through his blurry vision.

 _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale_.

“Is it better now?”

Woojin blinks. When he looks up, the road ahead is much clearer and he can see the buildings in the distance. Donghyun’s at the side of the road, in front of Woojin’s car where he’s on the phone, and Woojin takes a large breath as he prepares to open the door.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Youngmin asks, grabbing onto Woojin’s arm from the side.

“I have to check it for myself,” Woojin insists despite the cracks in his voice.

Youngmin nods, and he lets go.

Everything had happened in a blur, but there’s a voice that rings at the back of the his head, telling him that it was Jihoon, that it was Jihoon who he had collided with.

Woojin wishes that it was as easy to forget the painful memories as it is to say that he’s forgotten all about _him_. But Jihoon is the meteor showers in the warm summer nights, of what can’t quite be forgotten and of what that remains embedded in the deepest parts of his heart even as he tries to forget.

When he gets out of the car and rounds to the front, it’s the face that he never thought that he’d see again in his life.

Jihoon’s lying on the road in front of him, unmoving.

He feels the blood coursing through his body turn cold: _no, fuck, no, I didn’t just—_

 

 

**_Jihoon_ **

When he wakes up, the shock of white on white on white, of sanitizing solution so strong it burns his nose, of a small bed with stiff sheets, of _pain_ throbbing deep in his right arm all cut through the haze of medication surely swimming in his system. His first thought is loud and lucid: he saw Park Woojin’s stupid face in the driver’s seat of the car that hit him. As if his subconscious wanted to remind him of how his relationship with Woojin was exactly like being hit by a car. How his life was left a mess after the impact.

Except when his eyes land on Park Woojin sitting at his bedside, arms crossed but expression expectant, he knows his subconscious wasn’t to blame.

Park Woojin was to blame.

“You hit me,” Jihoon starts, ignoring the dull stab in his chest at seeing Woojin’s face again after so long. He hates that Woojin looks the same, that he looks so good still. “With a _car_.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Woojin says. He grips his knees, leaning forward to bow his head. His knuckles turn white. “I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”

Jihoon takes a deep breath as something hot, burning starts growing in his chest and overcomes the ache. He never imagined those words coming out of Woojin’s mouth, but he reminds himself that they’re meaningless. He’s not sorry for anything except putting Jihoon in a fucking hospital. And anyone would be sorry for that. He lifts a hand to run his fingers through his hair, then realizes that throbbing pain in his arm can actually get worse. And something hard meets with his forehead before his fingers—a cast. His arm is in a cast.

“My arm is—”

“Broken,” Woojin says. “Listen, I’m so—”

Jihoon shoots Woojin with a look, and that’s all it takes to shut him up. He curls and uncurls his fingers despite the pain in his right arm. For some reason, the real pain it’s causing him is just distracting enough to help him calm the rage threatening to claw up his throat and make him say things he’d regret. He wants to scream at Woojin for hitting him with his car and breaking his arm right before his brother’s wedding. He wants to yell at him that his stupid sorry isn’t going to help, that it doesn’t even mean anything. He wants to tell Woojin to get the fuck out of his room.

He says none of this.

“I’m sorry,” Woojin tries again. “I know it’s bad timing since Seongwoo hyung’s wedding is in a few days, but I’ll help you out in whatever way I can. I’ll be your right arm.”

That would mean having Woojin around, though, and that’d be even worse. So he just curls and uncurls his fists again, over and over, but harder this time. So hard he winces against it after a few times. It buys them just enough silence for a nurse to walk in and realize Jihoon’s awake, so he goes to get the doctor.

“Did you call my parents or Seongwoo hyung?” Jihoon asks while the nurse is away.

“Yeah,” Woojin says after swallowing hard. He looks down at his lap. “They wanted to be here, but I told them not to worry about it because they have enough on their plates. I said I’d stay with you and take you home.”

“Great. What a hero.”

Woojin releases a breath. “I just wanted to help. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Jihoon almost laughs. He definitely smiles. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll take you seriously next time if you don’t run me over with your car first. I can get home by myself. You can leave.”

For a moment, Woojin looks like he’s going to. He shifts his weight to stand, but then the doctor enters, and so he remains in his seat.

“Park Jihoon?” the doctor asks as she grabs his chart from the end of the bed. She glances over whatever basic information is there, probably something about his diagnosis, some notes that were made about how it happened, whatever else she needs to know. As she puts some x-rays on up against a light, she says, “It’s just your standard broken arm, a few cuts and bruises, and a minor concussion. You’ll need to be in the cast for about six weeks, then we can remove it. You might need to see a physical therapist for a few weeks, but that’s it. Your bruises and scrapes will heal naturally. Your concussion might lead to a minor headache for a while, maybe some problems with sleep or concentration. If you notice anything too different, you can give our nurses a call and we can let you know whether you need to be seen. You can leave whenever you’re ready. Do you have any questions for me?”

He wants to say yes, but he doesn’t. “No. I’m ready to go, though.”

“Great, I’ll have the nurse get that paperwork started for you.” The doctor offers him a hand, and they shake and bow their heads. “I hope you have a good visit. Your boyfriend over there was telling me you’re here for your brother’s wedding? I hope you have a great time.” She bows her head to Woojin, who returns it doubly, and then she’s gone.

He waits until he’s done filling out paperwork and the nurse has left to let him get dressed to pin Woojin with another look. “My boyfriend? Tell me you didn’t _tell_ her that.”

“No, of fucking course I didn’t.” Woojin stands now and, without asking, starts unfolding Jihoon’s clothes and laying them out for him. “But they weren’t going to let me stay if I was just your friend, so I didn’t correct them.”

“I didn’t fucking need you to stay.” Especially since he likely only did it to assuage his guilt for hitting Jihoon and breaking his arm. However, looking at his clothes, it’s becoming obvious that making him leave now would be stupid. “But since you’re here, help me put my clothes on.”

Woojin lifts an eyebrow. “You didn’t need me to stay, sure, but it’s not like I wanted to hit you. I didn’t want to break your fucking arm. I definitely did not want to waste my entire day at a hospital watching you _sleep_. And I don’t want to waste my week helping you of all people, but it’s my fault. It’s only right that I help you, even if I fucking hate you.”

Those last four words hit Jihoon a little harder than he imagines, and he has to sit back down on the bed. Woojin hates _him?_ For what? That makes no fucking sense. He grits his teeth. “I’m glad the feeling is mutual. Now are you going to help me or not?”

With a growl folded into his breath, Woojin rounds the bed. He takes Jihoon’s socks first, unraveling them, then he kneels. Jihoon expects Woojin will yank the socks on, but he doesn’t. He slips them on, delicately, one after the other, and there’s something about his deliberate touch and the way the veins on the back of his hands move with every precise moment of his fingers that sends a stupid shiver up Jihoon’s back.

Then he’s grabbing Jihoon’s underwear and suddenly Jihoon is very aware of what he’s asked Woojin to do. It’s too late, though. Heat crawls up his neck, and he hopes Woojin has the decency not to look up at him. Of course, when he reaches for Jihoon’s underwear, he glances up at Jihoon’s face. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he says.

Jihoon shoves his head. “Thanks for reminding me, asshole. Just be quick.”

“Why? Would it be a problem if I went slow?” Woojin holds Jihoon’s underwear for him to step into, then pulls them up his legs and stands at the same time. They are entirely too close, but it doesn’t seem to bother Woojin at all, and that calms the blood threatening to flood Jihoon’s face. “Not like I can see anything with this robe on.”

Woojin lets the band of Jihoon’s underwear snap against his hip bones. He flinches but says nothing, just looks away as Woojin grabs his pants and repeats the same motion. Jihoon pulls off the open-backed hospital gown so Woojin can zip and button his pants, then he pulls on his t-shirt on his own as Woojin puts on Jihoon’s shoes for him. Woojin has to help him with the sweatshirt.

“Now you can take the car you used to hit me with,” Jihoon says, “and drive me home instead.”

“Don’t want to take a taxi after all?” Woojin asks. He stops Jihoon as he moves away from the bed and fixes his hair, then grabs Jihoon’s wallet and cellphone and passes them into Jihoon’s good hand.

Jihoon almost says thanks, but he bites his tongue. He brushes past him and heads for the door before he changes his mind because there’s a part of him, too, that’s wondering why he’s not just taking a cab. The last person he wants to spend time with is Woojin. He could go home, ask someone else to help him with the small things he can’t do himself, and then not have to see Woojin again until the wedding. Which was what he was planning on in the first place.

But isn’t Jihoon the last person Woojin wants to spend time with, too? _Even if I fucking hate you,_ he’d said. The other part of Jihoon thinks, then, wouldn’t it be fitting that Woojin has to help him?

So he throws over his shoulder, “That costs money, and you’re free and oh-so-willing, aren’t you? You can stop by somewhere and get me something to eat, too. Fried chicken sounds pretty good. That place that we used to go still open?”

To his satisfaction, there is definitely a grimace on Woojin’s face. “Yeah,” he says. When Jihoon promptly stops in front of the door and gestures for Woojin to open it, he does, and there’s the faintest touch of a scowl on his lips. “After you, princess.”

“What a gentleman. Running over a princess with his fucking car then attempting to mock her because she’s worried her instincts will make her try to open a stupid door with her right hand and her arm is broken and it hurts when she even twitches her thumb. Such a prince.”

Woojin rolls his eyes. “The car’s this way.” He puts a hand on the small of Jihoon’s back and guides him down the hall toward the parking garage.

After finding his car, Woojin opens the door for him. Jihoon points to the buckle, and although Woojin sets his jaw hard, he grabs it, reaches across Jihoon’s body, and snaps it in. He slams the door shut, then gets in on the driver’s side. They drive to the fried chicken place they would visit after school when Jihoon still lived in Busan. Woojin correctly guesses that Jihoon isn’t getting out of the car, so he goes in by himself to get take-out. He returns with just the right amount, but Jihoon doesn’t tell him that.

The drive to the apartment that Jihoon has rented for the week is quick. Woojin helps Jihoon unbuckle and get out of the car without being prompted this time, which makes Jihoon wonder if maybe he does feel bad. Jihoon leads him into the building’s front door and into the elevator.

“Six,” he says.

“You can’t push buttons now, too?” Woojin presses it.

“But you’re here. Why should I?”

The rest of the elevator ride is quiet. Jihoon makes him push the buttons on the keypad, too. Woojin opens the door for him, and Jihoon heads inside, glancing back at Woojin to make sure he follows him instead of running. Although he looks hesitant, apprehensive, he steps inside behind Jihoon. They take off their shoes and put on slippers.

“You’re serious about helping me, aren’t you?” Jihoon asks.

Because the place is too small for a dining table, Woojin sets the boxes of chicken on the kitchen island. “Why else would I offer, Jihoon? Yeah, I’m serious.” He grabs plates, napkins, glasses of water before he takes a seat at one of the bar stools behind the island.

For a moment, Jihoon’s pulled into his memories of when this kind of thing was completely normal, when Woojin being domestic like this would warm his heart, when he wanted moments like these to stretch on forever.

“I told Seongwoo hyung I was bringing someone to his wedding,” Jihoon says before he can stop himself. He swallows hard and takes a seat next to Woojin. He keeps his gaze on his cast. “I don’t know why I said it. I don’t have anyone to bring, and he’s going to be a dick about it when he finds out I lied. But he’s been on my ass ever since they settled on a date about how great love is and how I should try to fall in love with someone so I can bring them to his wedding. I swear, he asks me every week if I’ve met someone or if I’ve gone on a date. I just wanted to shut him up. If you’re serious about helping me…”

Woojin is studying him when Jihoon finally raises his gaze. Then his lip curls and he turns away to start loading his plate up with fried chicken. “If i’m serious about helping you…?”

This asshole.

“Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“Give me ten pieces, please.”

“Oh, wow, you said _please_ that time. It’ll be my pleasure.” Woojin slaps on a dumb smile, snaggletoothed, and drops two fistfulls of chicken onto Jihoon’s plate. “What do you want me to help you with, Jihoon? Say it for me so I know exactly what it is you’re asking, or how else could I possibly agree?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m going to have to say no to that one.” And although there’s a faint blush growing on his cheeks, Woojin says, “You know I like you on bottom better.” He bites into some chicken.

“Park Woojin,” Jihoon growls.

He pauses mid-bite, chews, swallows. “Yes, Park Jihoon?”

“If you actually are fucking serious about helping me—and since you already basically claimed to be my boyfriend already at the hospital so how could this even be that big of a request—could you pretend to be my plus one for Seongwoo hyung’s wedding?”

“You have no one else to ask?”

“I could ask a lot of fucking people, but you’re the one who’s indebted to me the most right now.”

“Seongwoo hyung is not going to buy it.”

“He will.”

Woojin gives him a skeptical look. “I’m pretty sure this is just one more way you can torture me for _accidentally_ hitting you, but I did said I’d help you. How believable are you expecting us to be?”

“As believable as we can be. Here, give me your phone.” Jihoon offers his right hand, then he realizes that it’ll be a pain, maybe literally, to put his number in. “Just kidding. I’ll give you my number.”

“Your number?” Woojin asks, but he’s dutifully adding a new contact to his phone. He puts it in as _Park Princess_ and Jihoon is pretty sure he wanted Jihoon to see that. “...Did you change it?”

“Yeah, a few years back.” It was about the time that he realized Woojin was never going to reach out to him, about the time he’d completely given up. He recites his new number with a stomach attempting to put itself in a knot. “I’m going to need breakfast. You can cook for me.”

“I—” He groans. “Sure, whatever you fucking need. Not like I had plans. Not like I have a life.”

“It’s only a week and a wedding. What could you possibly miss out on while you’re making up for breaking my arm?”

“Nothing, of course.” Woojin rolls his eyes.

They finish eating, then he has Woojin do the dishes and clean up the boxes from the kitchen. He enjoys watching Woojin struggle with using too much dish soap. He has Woojin help him out of his sweatshirt and his t-shirt, then tape a bag around his cast. Woojin sends him back to his bedroom with his pants undone so he can wiggle out of him. Although washing is pretty hard with limited use of one arm, he thinks he’s done a pretty good job. That is, until he’s walking into the living room in a towel to have Woojin help him get clothed again and Woojin is laughing.

“You missed some shampoo, you idiot.”

He shoves Jihoon back into the bathroom and into the shower. As Jihoon bows his head, Woojin rinses out whatever he didn’t get the first time, fingers carding through his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp. Jihoon had forgotten what it felt like to have Woojin play with his hair, and he hates that it tightens his chest.

“There,” Woojin says, grabbing a smaller towel and throwing it over Jihoon’s head. “Dry off and I’ll help you back into some clothes before you catch a cold, _boyfriend_.”

Jihoon chokes but obeys, following Woojin out of the bathroom as he dries his hair. “I liked princess better.”

“Maybe you should’ve taken that into consideration before you asked me to be your fake boyfriend. Your underwear still in the top drawer?” He pulls it open before Jihoon asks to find that old habits die hard. Then he fishes out a pair of matching pink pajama set from the bottom drawer. “Wow, you still have this?”

It’s a pair that Woojin has—or at least had. They’d bought a pair together.

“Do you?” Jihoon asks, though he knows he’s going to regret hearing the answer. He takes the underwear for Woojin and attempts to put them on without dropping his towel.

Woojin seems content to watch. “Still have it? Yeah. They’re comfortable.” But then he sets his hands on Jihoon’s waist. Jihoon stills, tries not to look as if Woojin’s touch froze him when that’s exactly what it did. He grabs the waistband of the underwear from Jihoon and pulls them up under the towel. “That was fucking painful to watch.”

“Well, excuse me, then.” Jihoon gives him a shove, but mostly because his face is getting hot all over again. This was not the help he imagined he needed when he thought this would be a good idea.

“You’re excused.” Woojin replaces his hands on Jihoon’s hips, backpedals him to the bed, then has him sit. “Lay back.” He grabs the pajamas.

As much as Jihoon wants to protest or give some witty comeback, he does what he’s told again. Woojin slides his legs into the pajama pants, then asks him to lifts his hips. He does, and Woojin pulls the pants up to his waist. Once Jihoon’s hips are back down on the bed, Woojin grabs his wrist and pulls him up so he’s sitting again, but Woojin’s sitting between his legs now and they’re so close that Jihoon can’t breathe. One arm at a time, Woojin puts Jihoon’s pajama shirt on.

Their eyes meet, and Jihoon hopes his expression is as cold as he wishes he was right now.

“Can I go now?” Woojin asks.

“Yes,” Jihoon says, and he couldn’t be any happier that his tone is fucking frigid. “Leave already. I’m tired as all fuck of your face. Just text me when you’re on your way over tomorrow.”

Woojin gets up. “Will do.”

He turns and leaves, and Jihoon watches his back until it disappears into the living room. The door slams shut behind him.

 

 

**_Woojin_ **

Woojin brought breakfast. He’s not sure if Jihoon likes the same things as he did in the past, but he had woken up in the morning and found himself walking to the Isaac Toast down the street. He remembers how they’d wake up after sleeping over at each other’s house to have a warm cup of tea while eating the fresh toast. It’s still hot, but as Woojin stands in front of the door to Jihoon’s rented apartment, he finds himself hesitating and the toast gets cold.

It’s strange. They used to be so close, barriers almost non-existent between them. But here is he now, standing in front of the door, wondering if he should press the doorbell. It’s hard not to control the bite in his words, not when he remembers how they drifted apart. 

 

 

> **To: Park Princess**  
>  hey park. i’m here.

 

Woojin remembers when he used to look forward to coming home after school so he could dial the numbers of Jihoon’s phone by heart, and they would spend hours talking about everything and anything. But suddenly, one day, the phone calls didn’t go through and it slowly became a dull ache that remained in his heart.

He never expected Jihoon to give him his number again. Not when there are chatting apps like KakaoTalk, where it’s easier to just give an ID, and if you never wanted to talk to a person again, then you could just delete his ID. He hates how there’s a glimmer of hope that burns within him as Jihoon gave him his number. Almost a sign that tells him, that he doesn’t want them to be a superficial friendship, that maybe, they could go back to how they used to be. But Jihoon’s words are more thorns than roses, and Woojin finds himself brushing the thought away just as the door opens.

“What were you waiting for?” Jihoon squints at him. “Shouldn’t boyfriends invite themselves in?”

“Right.”

Woojin holds onto the door, so that he can take off his shoes at the corridor and change into the room slippers. He places the paper bag onto the kitchen island. The plates are still in the dryer from where Woojin left them last night, so he takes them out to place the toast on them.

“I didn’t know what you wanted for breakfast, so I got toast,” Woojin explains, as Jihoon watches him lay out the food.

“You’re getting really used to the boyfriend role already, huh?” Jihoon says, settling on one of the chairs. Woojin wishes that he could tune out the bite, the frost in Jihoon’s voice.

Woojin slides a plate over to Jihoon, and begins to eat his own. Until he realizes that Jihoon isn’t eating, and he asks, “Aren’t you going to eat, _boyfriend_?”

“I can’t cut the toast,” Jihoon says, sliding the plate back to Woojin’s side of the island.

“You have hands, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to get my hands dirty with breadcrumbs. Cut them for me.”

Woojin tries to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He can’t fucking believe how petty Jihoon can be, even though there’s already been so many years since they last saw each other, so many years since their relationship soured. But he turns the plate over, grabs the plastic knife that Isaac Toast provided, and cuts the bread into bite-sized pieces.

“Happy now?”

“Yes, thank you,” Jihoon nods, stabbing a fork into the bread to push it inside his mouth.

They don’t say anything for the rest of the time they are having breakfast. But Woojin thinks it’s better. At least it means that he wouldn’t have to listen to the ice in Jihoon’s voice. Woojin finishes up first, but he takes a longer time to finish his tea. Jihoon takes his tea with him over to the sofa after he finishes the bread. Once Woojin sees Jihoon leaning against the sofa, he takes the plates in hand and starts to wash them up.

The water is hot, and it reminds him of the aching burn that lingers within him. He doesn’t turn the knob. And he wonders what he has to do, so that things go back to the way they were.

When he’s done with the dishes, Jihoon calls for him. Woojin walks over, but he stills for a moment, unsure of where he should be sitting. It feels awkward for him to sit next to Jihoon, to be so close to Jihoon, but he sits down anyway. If he’s going to go through with pretending to be Jihoon’s boyfriend in front of Seongwoo, he’d have to get used to being next to Jihoon, after all.

“We need to come up with an alibi,” Jihoon explains.

“Sure,” Woojin nods. He wonders how Jihoon is able to do this all: to act like their pretend relationship is like a business, a transaction, when his mind is still haunted with memories of what they used to be. "So, we met each other again during an acquaintance’s party in Seoul or something?”

Jihoon purses his lips together. “Yeah. I guess that could work.”

Woojin snorts. “Do we even have a mutual acquaintance?”

“No.”

“Fuck, how is this even going to be believable to anyone, much more, Seongwoo hyung?”

Jihoon sighs, running his hand through his bangs. Woojin remembers how Jihoon would always do that whenever he was thinking. “Well then, we could more or less keep to the original story. I was back in Busan for a few days to check out the venues for Seongwoo hyung’s wedding. And you ran into me on the streets.”

There’s a voice within Woojin that tells him to be truthful, to be honest. But he doesn’t want to make things more complicated than they need to be, so he swallows the lump in his throat. “Sounds good. I ended up giving you my number and we started talking to each other again, and we ended up falling for each other, and we ended up dating.”

“Not entirely far off from the truth,” Jihoon adds. “So are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to since high school, so I can be more believable?”

They talk. Woojin discovers that Jihoon ended up being a Business major so he could help out with the family, and Woojin tells Jihoon that he ended up pursuing Psychology. There’s still a missing gap between the years since Jihoon moved to Seoul, but Woojin doesn’t quite feel prepared to talk about it. Judging from the way Jihoon doesn’t bring it up, he figures that he doesn’t want to talk about it, too.

They also share about the small details, but Woojin finds out that neither of them have really changed since high school. They still like the same food, like the same seasons and they still prefer the salty Busan breeze over the stale Seoul air. It’s almost like time never changed, and they were back to being how they were like when they were younger: teenage boys who struggled with their changing hearts and the passionate throes of emotions.

Jihoon’s stomach rumbles when they take a break from talking about themselves and Woojin snorts at that. “You should have said that you were hungry.”

“Make me lunch,” Jihoon simply says. But Woojin’s already halfway to the kitchen, where he’s surprised at how well stocked it is. Jihoon’s leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, and he adds, “What did you think I was?”

“Someone who probably eats take-out every day,” Woojin suggests, taking out vegetables from the fridge so that he could prepare a kimchi stew.

“That’s expensive,” Jihoon replies. “I like my kimchi stew sweeter, thanks.”

“I know. I remember.”

The words come out even before Woojin registers it, and he regrets it when he comprehends the weight behind the words.

“Oh,” Jihoon says. It’s soft, and Woojin thinks that he can hear the cracks in the edges of his voice. But he doesn’t say anything because Jihoon’s walking back to the living area, turning on the television so that it drowns out everything else in the background.

Yeah.

 _It’s better like this_ , he thinks.

When they are done with lunch, Woojin makes sure to leave the leftover food in the microwave, already packed in plastic boxes so that it’s easier for Jihoon to press the button to heat up the food.

“You can push buttons if I’m not around, right?” Woojin says, wiping the water off his hands after washing them.

“Of course,” Jihoon replies. He doesn’t look up from where he’s sitting on the couch.

He’s at a loss at what to do, really. They are so close to each other, being in the same space, but at the same time, it feels like they are two separate planets. And Woojin doesn’t quite know what are the right words to say, the right things to do when Jihoon doesn’t show any sign of wanting to hold a conversation beyond the logistics of fake dating.

So he makes up an excuse, to say that he’s meeting Yerim in the afternoon, even though he doesn’t have any plans. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but he doesn’t want to stay in the apartment, not when every moment makes him feel so suffocated from within.

Before he can leave the apartment, Jihoon makes sure to remind him: “Seongwoo hyung has a get-together with his old friends tomorrow. Pick me up at 5.”

“Can I say no?”

“Can you?”

Woojin purses his lips, and he takes off the slippers to put on his own shoes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Rest well.”

 

 

**_Jihoon_ **

Woojin is waiting downstairs for him in his car. He’s right on time, so there’s nothing Jihoon can complain about, unfortunately. He gets in the car, but when he struggles with his seatbelt lefthanded, Woojin reaches over and does it for him.

“Seriously, you’re like a five-year-old,” Woojin grumbles as he pulls away from the building and into Busan traffic.

“That would make you precisely four years old, then,” Jihoon says. “Being in your car is a lot better than being hit by it, I must say.”

Woojin groans. “When are you going to get tired of that one?”

“Never.” Jihoon stretches his legs. “So I told Seongwoo hyung I’d be bringing my boyfriend to dinner and he just laughed and asked me if I was bringing an escort instead. Fucking asshole.”

“It’s your own fault.” Woojin weaves through traffic.

“Yeah, so you’ve made clear, but my point is that he’s probably going to freak out when he sees you. A lot more than I thought he would. So just be prepared. You have the story memorized?”

“You tripped and fell into my arms and we looked into each other’s eyes and just fell in love all over again and it was as if nothing had ever come between us and we both sprouted wings and started vomiting rainbows.” Woojin sends him a snaggletoothed grin. “Right?”

This dick. Jihoon can’t help the way his heart stuttered when Woojin said _fell in love all over again_ as if it was easy. As if talking about what they had been wasn’t hard for him. “If Seongwoo hyung finds out that you broke my arm and also went along with my plan to lie to him about me having a boyfriend, he’s not going to let you off, either. Or did you forget how he can get?”

Woojin’s grin falls. “Oh. Fuck.”

“So you have our story memorized, right?”

“Yes. I have it all memorized. Down to the two pumps of hazelnut you like in your Americano. I’m going to be the most convincing fake boyfriend you could ever have.”

There’s a lot Jihoon could say, but he doesn’t. They spend the rest of the car ride listening to the radio. Woojin sings along to every song and Jihoon stares out of the passenger side window so Woojin can’t see the smirk he’s fighting to keep off his face. Woojin really hasn’t changed at all.

Woojin parks and Jihoon waits for him to get out, go around the car, and open the door for him. He unbuckles him, then offers a hand. “Are you ready for our big debut, boyfriend?”

“As ready as I ever could be, boyfriend.” He takes the hand and gets out. When Woojin tries to take his hand back, Jihoon entwines their fingers. “ _Boyfriend_.”

Woojin wrinkles his nose. “Right.”

They walk into the restaurant that way, all the way to the table where Seongwoo and Minhyun are joking around with their high school friends. Daniel is there, and so is Jimin and Jungkook, as well as Minki and the other Jihoon who everyone just calls Woozi. Seongwoo already had dinner with his former dance crew, so none of them are here. Jihoon puts on his best smile for his step brother’s friends—friends he grew up with, too.

Then Seongwoo finally notices them. Everyone stops talking while Seongwoo studies Jihoon, then Woojin, then Jihoon again.

“Hey,” Jihoon says. “I thought I’d remind you how you greet people when they show up to the dinner you invited them to. Hey, everyone.”

Everyone waves except Seongwoo.

“Woojin?” Seongwoo says. “ _Woojin_?”

“Yeah. Hey, everyone.” Woojin gives him a small wave. His other hand squeezes Jihoon’s, and Jihoon remembers when Jihoon convinced Woojin it’d be a good idea to tell their parents they were dating and they had done it holding hands. Woojin had squeezed his hand back then, too. He’d squeezed his hand when they’d said goodbye when Jihoon had moved, too. “Woojin is indeed my name, hyung.”

Seongwoo puts up a finger. He shakes his head, eyes closed, and then he chuckles. “You’re trying to tell me that Park Woojin is your boyfriend?”

Jihoon holds up their hands. “I’m showing you. I told you I’d bring my boyfriend. Here he is. Can we sit now?”

“Sure, sure. I won’t accept this unless you sit in his lap, though.”

The table chuckles.

Just a little, Jihoon throws up in his mouth. “This is funny to you, isn’t it?”

There is a look in Seongwoo’s eye that tells him _yes, it’s fucking hilarious_.

Woojin pulls Jihoon to the table, though. Seongwoo must’ve activated his competitive side because when he sits, he tugs Jihoon onto his lap. “It’ll be hard to eat this way, but sure.” He settles an arm around Jihoon’s waist, and Jihoon promptly tries to forget how natural this all feels. “Do you believe us now?”

“Absolutely not.” Seongwoo just chuckles some more. “How could I ever believe this?”

“Didn’t you two already date?” Daniel asks with a little frown of confusion. “I thought you two broke up after Seongwoo hyung and Jihoon moved to Seoul.”

“We did,” Jihoon says, swallowing hard. He doesn’t know if this is better or worse than what he imagined, but he has no choice but to do what he does best: deflect. “But here we are now. I’m pretty sure this dinner isn’t supposed to be an interrogation, though. Aren’t we here to celebrate Seongwoo hyung and Minhyun hyung?”

Minhyun raises an eyebrow, but he smiles and raises a glass because he’s not as cruel as Seongwoo. Jihoon would take him over Seongwoo as a brother any damn day. “Yes, that’s true. It’s nice to see you, Woojin. I’m glad you could join us. It’s really fine if you don’t want Jihoon to sit in your lap all dinner.”

Seongwoo grunts. “I’m having _fun_ though.” He looks over at Jihoon, who’s moving off Woojin’s lap to sit in the last open chair beside him. “Don’t listen to him. Get back on his lap.”

Jihoon just rolls his eyes.

“You always have fun,” Minhyun reminds him, “one way or another.”

Seongwoo grins as he turns to Minhyun, and the expression on his face makes Jihoon smile, too. He remembers when Seongwoo would come home from school and spend all of dinner talking about Minhyun. At first it was because Minhyun was smart and composed and the president of the student council while Seongwoo was the vice president. Then it was about how ridiculous Minhyun was, his stupid antics, his obsession with cleaning. By that time, there was only one person who didn’t know that Seongwoo had a crush on Minhyun: Seongwoo.

Even Minhyun knew, and he used that knowledge to his benefit. Jihoon had watched Minhyun flirt with Seongwoo a thousand times. He watched Seongwoo flirt back without even knowing what he was doing. It was pretty precious. It wasn’t until their freshman year of college that Seongwoo realized he was in love with Minhyun. Now they’re almost thirty and getting married.

It’s a beautiful story. Jihoon is happy for them. That doesn’t stop him from wishing sometimes, when Seongwoo looks at Minhyun that way and when Minhyun looks back at him with the same look, that Jihoon also had someone to look at him like that.

For the most part, the rest of the dinner goes along smooth. Although he struggles with using chopsticks with his left hand, Woojin pities him a few times and feeds him when it seems no one is looking. It’s great to catch up with everyone and what they’re doing. Seongwoo’s friends are basically Jihoon’s. He remembers when he had a crush on Jungkook. He remembers the dance competition where Daniel stomped on Woojin’s team. He remembers that he was afraid he wouldn’t find better friends when he moved to Seoul in his second year of high school.

He should’ve anticipated the conversation to turn back to Woojin, but he’s caught mid-struggle with his chopsticks when Seongwoo pins his attention to them one more time.

“So how’d you two reconnect?” he asks. He’s anticipating a slip up, if his smirk is any indication.

“He ran into me in the streets. I was on my way to our favorite cafe, actually. That little hole-in-the-wall place we used to go eat at all the time after school together.” He looks over at Woojin to see his reaction to that. He doesn’t expect his loose expression—the glimmer of surprise mixed with something he can’t quite read. It stirs something in his chest. He turns back to Seongwoo. “This was back when I was checking out venues for you two.”

“That was a few months ago,” Minhyun says, taking a lazy bite of a slice of cake he’s sharing with Seongwoo.

“Yeah,” Woojin picks up. “There was something about seeing him again after so long that really hit me. I wanted to know how he was doing, what he was doing now. So I ended up giving him my number and we started talking again. At first, slow.” He chuckles, and Jihoon bites the inside of his cheek to remind himself to ignore the way it makes his stomach flutter. “Then we were texting everyday. I was texting him when I woke up. I texted him before I went to bed. I fell for him all over again. Lucky asshole.”

“Ha.” Jihoon gives him a shove, but there’s no strength in it. He hates that he’s flushing. “You’re the lucky one. Didn’t we already agree on that? Don’t insult me.”

“How is that an insult?” Woojin asks. “If I’m so lucky to have you because you’re such a great catch—” He rolls his eyes. “—then aren’t you lucky to be dating someone so lucky?”

“What kind of asinine logic—”

“God,” Seongwoo says. “You two really haven’t changed.”

And that’s that.

 

 

**_Woojin_ **

Woojin has always known that Seongwoo was wild. That’s probably why he doesn’t expect such a nice dinner, seeing that Seongwoo had made all of them head back up to Seoul for the night and told them all to take public transportation down. They have a dinner at a posh restaurant in Hongdae, together with some nice chicken and good wine.

Although Woojin knows some of the people there, like all of Seongwoo’s friends from Busan and his dance crew friends from Seoul, from the side, Jihoon points out the names of the people who he doesn’t know: _that’s Dongmin, who likes to be known as Eunwoo for some strange reason, that’s Moonbin, Minhyuk_ —the names start to blur from then on. And Woojin focuses on the people he knows and he gives a polite nod to them all.

Seongwoo’s friends cheer to his last few days of being single, and cheer again at the merry fact that Seongwoo’s going to be married to the love of his life in a few days.

“The food was really good,” Woojin comments.

“Yeah,” Jihoon nods. “It’s one of Seongwoo hyung’s favourite restaurants.”

Dinner ends earlier than Woojin expected, but then as Seongwoo waves most of his friends away, he turns around to grin at whoever is left in the building: “Let’s go to the next spot.”

When Seongwoo tells them the address of the next place they are going, it’s right where Woojin expects it to be. He’s been to some clubs back when he was fresh in college and joined orientation programs so that he’d be able to fit in better with the crowd.

Clubs in Hongdae tend to be on the wilder side, with the younger crowd and the music that makes the adrenaline run faster in everyone’s veins. They start off with a few drinks, and then, Woojin finds himself being pulled to the dance floor by Jihoon.

“Fuck it,” Jihoon says. “Let’s dance.”

it should be awkward, to be dancing with Jihoon, considering that he has an arm in a cast. Woojin thinks that it’s probably the alcohol getting to his head, and he finds himself pulling Jihoon closer. Woojin feels like he’s on fire, from the feverish haze that he finds himself walking into. It’s darkness and loud music that drowns out the sound of his racing heartbeat, and they’re dancing _with_ each other, grinding against each other.

When Woojin looks up, it’s the moment when the spotlights hits Jihoon’s face. Even with an arm in a cast, Jihoon still looks so effortlessly hot—from the way the sweat beads at the side of his face, sliding down, the way he pants softly from dancing with Woojin and the way his eyes sparkle in excitement.

He can’t quite hear the sound of his heartbeat against the music, but he can feel his heart beating rapidly against his chest. He can also feel Jihoon’s body on his own—feeling like fire dancing on the edges of his skin as he lets his hands move to the rhythm of the pounding bass, trailing along the sides of Jihoon, lying on the small of Jihoon’s back and another, on his waist.

It’s definitely the haze of being in the club that gets to him, getting to _them_ , Woojin thinks as he chews on his lower lip. It’s the only reason that explains Jihoon rolling his hips against his own, and Woojin finds himself responding instinctively to it, grinding against Jihoon.

And it’s when Woojin can see the lust in Jihoon's eyes, and he’s forced to wonder if Jihoon can see it in his too.

He does, Woojin thinks, from the way they pull away from each other almost immediately, as if only comprehending now that they are meant to be two people who hated each other, who never got rid of the frustration from the past. They are supposed to be acting like they are together, for Seongwoo, but he thinks that there are _still_ lines that have to be drawn, and they have most definitely walked past those carefully drawn lines.

Woojin watches the way Jihoon swallows, biting at his lower lip. _God_. He hates how his heart skips at that and how his gaze focuses on his chapped lips, and how he wants to press his lips against Jihoon’s, and perhaps, it would help to alleviate the tension that hung between them.

But he decides against it, and he says, “Fuck. I’m going out to catch some fresh air.”

There are many bodies on the dance floor, which makes it hard for Woojin to maneuver out. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to picture what kind of face Jihoon could be making, not when he feels like a close stranger. A part of Woojin misses the days where he could read Jihoon easily: the scrunched eyebrows, the scratches at the side of his face, and the biting of his lower lip. But in the years of lost contact, Woojin finds that Jihoon has become harder to read, and that he isn’t quite sure of how to interpret Jihoon’s actions, because one moment he’s pulling Woojin in, and the other moment, he’s pushing him away.

When he takes a step out of the club, and shuts the door behind, he’s greeted with the stench of cigarette smoke that makes him choke. There’s a bunch of men who are taking a smoke break down the road, and Woojin hopes that the cold air would help to clear his thoughts.

It doesn’t.

He doesn’t know how long he spends staring at the empty space in front of him, the black granite that reflects the moonlight of the darkening night. Neither does Woojin register the cold that’s biting into him, not until the door of the club swings open again, and there’s a coat that’s thrown in his face.

“I can’t believe you left without taking your coat.” Jihoon scoffs.

Woojin pulls the coat over himself, and he says, “Oh.”

Woojin can see Jihoon rolling his eyes from the corner of his eyes, the way the moonlight illuminates Jihoon’s features in a way that the spotlight from before doesn’t. He sees the gentle curve of his jawline, the slope of his nose, and the eyes that are as bright as he remembers. He wants to reach out, wants to be able to curl his hand over Jihoon’s, but he doesn’t know if he should, if he _could_ do that. Not when things between them aren’t quite solved.

Neither of them say anything. They don’t bring up what happened on the dance floor. He wonders if he should say anything, but Seongwoo’s coming out of the club and winking at them. There’s a slight flush dusting his cheeks as he waves another batch of friends goodbye. There aren’t many people that are around them anymore, and Woojin wonders if this is how Seongwoo’s bachelor party is coming to an end.

“Buckle up, boys,” Seongwoo grins at them, tapping on his phone screen so that they can call for a cab. “We’re heading to the last spot.”

“The last spot?” Woojin raises a single eyebrow, but he keeps his voice low so that only Jihoon can hear him.

Jihoon grins at him. “We’re going to a strip club.”

Clubs, _yes_. Woojin’s been to one before so he knows what to expect, what to do there. But strip clubs? _No._ Woojin has never been to one, and he didn’t even know that Seoul had them in the first place. He gets pushed into a cab by Seongwoo, who tells the cab driver the address and they find themselves in front of the strip club in no time. The banner of the club illuminates in the dark, and Woojin swallows the lump that had found its way to his throat, unconsciously tightening his linked hands with Jihoon.

Of course, Jihoon would tease him. “Scared?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Woojin growls and he loosens his grip immediately. He watches Seongwoo and the rest of their party enter the club, and he tugs on Jihoon’s hand, too. “Let’s go.”

As expected, the music is deafening the moment he enters the club. There’s a runway in the middle, and there are spaces for people to drink on both sides and booths a little further back for larger parties to enjoy the show. Woojin can feel Jihoon shuffling a little closer to him as they try to follow Seongwoo’s figure as best as they can in the darkness, to the table that he has reserved.

It starts off awkward, just like how they would be like in a regular club, but cups of alcohol start to find their way onto the table, and it helps to loosen the tension and let them soak in the atmosphere of fun and laughter. Woojin downs a shot of his own and watches the way Seongwoo shouts, “To the last days of being single!”

The rest of them raise their glasses to cheer.

And that’s when the male strippers start walking down the runway, in the middle. Everyone’s gazes turn to them, including Woojin’s own and Jihoon’s. Their movements are simple and practiced, a routine. But Woojin can see the passion that burns in their eyes, that it’s not just something that has been ingrained in their bodies, but it’s something that they genuinely love to do, too. It’s entrancing, and Woojin can’t take his eyes off them, not until Jihoon’s whispering at his side, “Woojin, please slip some dollar bills into his pants.”

Woojin squints at Jihoon. “You have _one_ working hand.”

“I’m not very coordinated,” Jihoon reasons, and lifts his glass of alcohol shakily, as if to prove a point. “See, I’m using my left hand and I can’t hold my glass properly.”

Woojin remembers very well how Jihoon had just downed a shot. “Right.”

So both of them inch closer to the stage. Woojin thinks that he can hear Seongwoo’s cheers from the background, but it’s probably him thinking too much into things. He takes out his wallet, grabbing several bills and turns to Jihoon for a final look before he’s trying to slip the bills into the stripper’s assless pants.

The stripper winks at him the moment he discovers what Woojin is trying to do, and he does a particular hard hip thrust in Woojin’s direction. _Wow_. He finds himself swallowing as he extends his hand, so that he can slip the bills into his pants. When he does manage to do so, he feels Jihoon’s arm tugging him back as the stripper taps on his shoulder. When he turns to look at Jihoon’s face, there’s an unreadable expression in his eyes, but Woojin recognizes the scrunched eyebrows.

A voice in his head tells him that Jihoon’s regretting that he asked Woojin to slip the notes into the stripper’s pants. And Woojin hopes that he isn’t misinterpreting this.

“You alright?” Woojin asks when they sit back at the table. He’s surprised that his voice still sounds steely, even though he knows that his heart is working extra hard.

“Um.” Jihoon blinks. Before Jihoon can answer though, there’s a stripper on the ground who’s making his way towards the both of them, and before either of them can comprehend what’s happening, the stripper’s on Jihoon’s lap and grinding into him. It should be hot, but all Woojin can focus on is how Jihoon looks vaguely uncomfortable, his broken arm dangles awkwardly at his side, and the way his eyes shoot him a silent plea: _please save me._

And Woojin does take his hand, tapping on the shoulder of the male stripper, “If you’d excuse my boyfriend and I.”

He presses some of the notes he’d haphazardly taken out of his wallet, to slide them into the stripper’s pants before he’s tugging on Jihoon’s hand, leading him away to where they had left their belongings. There, he sees Seongwoo cheering at the stripper’s performance, but Woojin doesn’t miss the way Seongwoo wriggles his eyebrows when Woojin collects their coats.

“We’ll be leaving for the night, hyung.” Woojin bows to Seongwoo. “I hope that you have a great night ahead.”

Jihoon just waves at Seongwoo before Woojin leads the both of them out of the nightclub. Woojin helps Jihoon to put on his coat, one arm in and then the other. He puts on his own before opening the door for both Jihoon and himself to leave the club, where the cold air hits them and Woojin immediately misses the warmth of being inside.

“That was _wild_ ,” Woojin finds himself saying, the moment he steps out.

Jihoon snorts. “Was that your first time at a strip club?”

“Do I look like someone who’d frequent one?”

“Well, no.”

“Exactly.”

The club’s located in one of the smaller roads in Hongdae, so they take a slow walk to the main road, so that they can flag a cab and head back to the train station, and probably make their way back to Busan. It’s colder than before, and when there’s a particularly harsh breeze that sweeps across his cheeks, Woojin finds himself wanting to tighten his scarf around his neck. But Jihoon lets out a loud sneeze from his side, as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, as if it could help to warm up his hands.

So Woojin takes off his scarf so that he can wrap it around Jihoon’s neck and makes sure to pull up the zipper of Jihoon’s coat. He takes one of Jihoon’s hand out of his pockets, letting his fingers slip into the spaces between Jihoon’s own, and he brings it up higher so that he can blow some hot air onto his hands.

“Seongwoo hyung isn’t here,” Jihoon points out, but he doesn’t jerk his hand away.

Woojin doesn’t know what possesses him to say the next words. But if neither of them are going to make the effort to get past the bitterness of the missing years, and choosing to put up defensive borders, then nothing between them is going to change. He thinks of how he had broke Jihoon’s arm, but it also feels like it’s some sort of fate that ties them together, to give them a chance of mending their broken relationship.

“I wanted to.”

Things get quiet between them when Jihoon doesn’t say anything in response to that. Woojin continues to lead them down the empty road, which is much longer than how it had seemed when the cab drove them in. He takes a look up, as if it can help the tightness that’s building up in his throat. He hopes to see the stars that he loves, but he’s reminded of how they are in Seoul because there’s nothing but black that’s staring back at him.

“Remember when we could see the stars back in Busan?” Woojin says, tugging on Jihoon’s arm so that they can both stop in their steps, to take a look up at the dark blanket hanging above them. “It’s such a pity that we can’t see them here.”

Jihoon laughs.

It reminds Woojin of the time when they were in love with each other before Jihoon moved away and things went to shit, of the time when they were always together—so close and never having to have any label that describes _what_ they are between them.

“You’d always been the romanticist between us, huh,” Jihoon comments. He isn’t looking at Woojin, but at the sky above them.

Woojin doesn’t know what to say to that. They are both taking out the keys to unlock the memories that have been brushed away, stored and compartmentalized in the deepest parts of their heads. And there’s something daunting about it, to dig into the memories that he’s tried so hard to forget. Woojin swallows the lump that has been building up within his throat, and he tugs at Jihoon’s arm again so he can catch his attention, so that Jihoon’s looking at him.

“Want to go back to Busan?”

There are unsaid words that float in the air. It isn’t just any other place in Busan that Woojin’s talking about. It’s the grassy patch behind their school, where it’s meant to be out of bounds, but they had still found their way there. The wind is strong, where nature lays untouched but it also means that they get a clear view of the sky and the stars that twinkle brightly against the dark. It’s where the memories of _them_ shine the brightest, of confessions of love and promises of forever.

He sees the way Jihoon purses his lips, looking down at the granite. Woojin thinks that the same thoughts, the same memories must also be running through Jihoon’s head, so he doesn’t prod for an answer until Jihoon finds the words.

“Isn’t it going to be daytime by the time we get back to Busan?”

Woojin raises his arm so he can take a look at his watch. It reads 2am in the morning, and while Busan isn’t too far away by train, winter means early mornings and they definitely wouldn’t make it back to Busan before dawn begins to break.

But he hears the words that lie under Jihoon’s voice.

It isn’t a no.

So Woojin tightens his grip on jihoon’s hand. “We can go there tomorrow. After Minhyun hyung’s bachelor party.”

“Alright.” Jihoon nods. “Let’s go there tomorrow.”

They step onto the pavement by the big road in Hongdae.

Their hands are still interlinked with each other.

And they remain so, even as Woojin flags a cab and they climb in.

And also after they buy the tickets back to Busan and get on the KTX back home.

Woojin doesn’t want to let go.

 

 

**_Jihoon_ **

Woojin texts Jihoon again although he’s just outside of the door. Jihoon opens it, rolls his eyes, and gestures for him to come in. He has a couple of garment bags draped over his arm because Jihoon had decided this morning that it might finally hit home with Seongwoo that they’re dating if they coordinate outfits.

He had not expected Woojin to actually bring over a few options so they could choose what to wear together.

“What do you feel about navy dress pants?” Jihoon asks, fingering his pair in his closet.

“I didn’t bring over my pair. _Damn_.”

“You don’t own a pair, do you?”

“Of fucking course I don’t.”

Jihoon pulls out his black dress pants. “You’re right. What was I expecting? Color? In your wardrobe? Not in this life. So dress shirts.”

Woojin tugs on the sleeve of a black one. “This—”

Jihoon slaps his hand. “Fuck no. We are _not_ wearing all black to Minhyun hyung’s bachelor party.”

“I wore all black to Seongwoo hyung’s though. What was so wrong about that?”

Sure, Woojin had looked good. More than good. And then he’d dragged Woojin to the dance floor and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. No black. “This is different,” Jihoon says. “There’s no club this time. It’s Minhyun hyung. At least let’s wear something that’s black _and_ white.”

After pulling out a few shirts and matching them with Woojin’s, they settle on a grey shirt for Woojin with a slim black tie and a simple patterned black-and-white dress shirt for Jihoon. Woojin helps Jihoon into his outfit first, then changes into his own. When he steps out of Jihoon’s room, Jihoon is calling a cab.

He almost doesn’t hear the receptionist ask for his address. Thankfully, Woojin is too concerned with whether his tie is straight to notice. Maybe he should’ve let Woojin wear all black after all.

“I hate dressing up,” Woojin says once Jihoon is off the phone. “Are you sure I shouldn’t just wear all black? I’d still be matching with you.”

“I’m sure. Stop it. You look fine.” For some reason, seeing Woojin doubting that he looks anything but fucking amazing twists Jihoon’s insides. He wants to tell Woojin exactly how good he looks, but wouldn’t that just sound strange coming from him? Would Woojin even believe him?

Woojin curls his lip. “I just realized that you _would_ let me go to a fancy dinner looking ridiculous just for shits and giggles, so I’m just going to—”

“Come here.” Jihoon gestures him over. “I need your help with something.”

Sighing, Woojin heads over to him. “What is it that you need now, princess?”

“I need to fix your tie.” Jihoon uses his good hand to straighten it from the knot, then smooths it down along his chest and torso. He fixes a spot near Woojin’s hip where his shirt was tucked in a little too much. “There. I approve.”

Woojin pauses, then his eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he’s smirking. He puts his hands on his hips. “You approve? Oh, wow, Princess Park Jihoon’s approval. It’s all I’ve ever wanted in life. Wow. _Wow_.”

“Fuck off. Our cab is probably waiting for us already. Put my shoes on for me and let’s go.”

“Anything for my princess.” He takes Jihoon’s hand and guides him to the shoe rack. He kneels and starts slipping Jihoon’s feet into black dress shoes. His cheeks dust with the faintest of blush as he says, “Thanks, though. For, you know, fixing my tie. Yeah.”

 _Damn_. He missed making Woojin blush.

Once they have shoes and coats, they head downstairs. The cab is waiting for them, and Woojin helps Jihoon get in before sliding into the backseat next to him. Their knees touch, but neither move. After all the dancing they did together at Seongwoo hyung’s bachelor party, their knees touching is virtually meaningless.

Minhyun’s bachelor party is very Minhyun. He booked a private room at Busan’s best restaurant. Everyone is wearing nice clothes and drinks wine or champagne. Minhyun invited his friends from Busan and from Seoul, so there are a lot of good looking men in one room, but it’s stupid Park Woojin that Jihoon spends most of his time glancing at over the course of appetizers, dinner, and dessert.

He’s mid-cheesecake when Minhyun catches his attention and holds up his phone, taps the blackened screen, then goes back to chatting with Dongho and Aron, two of his friends from college. So Jihoon checks his phone.

 

 

> **From: Minhyun hyung**  
>  If you’d like, you two can go out and have some fun alone?

 

Jihoon chews at his lip. They had agreed to spend some time stargazing tonight, and if they left now, that’d mean he wouldn’t have to spend his entire night with Woojin. A small part of him wants to, though. Wants to stay sitting beside him at the table. Wants to drag him out to their old high school well past midnight. Wants to study the stars with him until dawn. His chest tightens.

What the fuck is he doing?

He nudges Woojin’s arm with his elbow. When he glances over, he shows him the text. Woojin shrugs, nods, and then excuses himself from the conversation he was having with Sungwoon, one of Seongwoo’s friends from his dance team in Seoul that ended up being one of Minhyun’s good friends as well. Jihoon has no idea how Woojin knows Sungwoon, but he figures it has to do with dancing. It always has to do with dancing.

They leave hand-in-hand. They remain hand-in-hand in the taxi ride to their old school. They hop the fence, exchange glances of _holy fuck we’re trespassing and we’re grown ass men_ , then find the spot of grass behind their school that they called theirs. They lay down, their hands finding each other’s again, and don’t say anything for a long time as they watch the stars glimmer, twinkle from light years away.

What would they say, if they did talk? Would they try to reminisce about the last time they were here? It’d been the Friday before Jihoon had moved to Seoul. Jihoon had sat in Woojin’s lap, Woojin’s arms had been around his waist, and they’d avoided making promises. There’d been no discussion of how they’d make it work with the distance. There’d been no discussion of if they’d even _work_. They’d just assumed it wouldn’t matter. They’d been wrong.

If they were talking right now, is that what they would discuss? How they hadn’t worked? How they’d texted less and less? How Jihoon hadn’t grown accustomed to waiting half a day before hearing from Woojin, only for that time to grow longer and longer between texts? How much feeling like Woojin’s last priority had hurt him until he’d figured it’d be best if he just stopped expecting to be anything else?

Jihoon likes not talking about any of that. He likes the warmth of Woojin’s hand. He likes that when he looks over at Woojin, he looks back and smiles and it looks like the sky made an imprint on his eyes because there are stars there, too. They’re shoulder-to-shoulder, and it wouldn’t take much for him to lean in, to press their lips together. What surprises him more than wanting to kiss Woojin is that when he looks back up to his eyes, he’s not staring into Jihoon’s. He’s looking at his lips.

Suddenly, he finds it hard to breathe. Not because he’s realizing that Park Woojin wants to kiss him, too. Not because he’d like it a lot. It’s because he has no idea what to do with all of this. With them.

What did he get himself into when he asked Woojin to pretend to be his boyfriend?

Woojin squeezes his hand. “You’re shivering,” he says.

“Oh.” He’s not wrong. Jihoon isn’t sure, though, if it’s from the cold.

“Let’s get you home?” He stands, then offers Jihoon a hand.

He takes it.

 

 

**_Woojin_ **

There’s only two more days before Seongwoo’s wedding.

They get busier with the preparations that they need to do before the wedding begins proper. It’s why Woojin finds himself driving to Jihoon’s house at 9 in the morning. He knows that Jihoon wouldn’t have had breakfast yet, so he takes a detour to the Starbucks that’s down the road from his rented apartment. He makes it quick, grabbing coffee for both of them together with some sandwiches from the open fridge.

He knows that Jihoon would have him if he’s late, so he steps on the accelerator to speed up and manages to reach Jihoon’s house in record time. He leaves the coffee and the sandwich in his car, knowing that they probably don’t have the time to eat at Jihoon’s place and they could probably grab a bite when Woojin’s driving them down to the tailor.

And it’s only now that he’s reminded of the events that happened several hours ago, of how they had sat on the grassy patch at the place that means so much to them. He finds himself hesitating again, and suddenly, it becomes hard to press against the doorbell of Jihoon’s door.

But as if Jihoon can sense his presence, the door opens to reveal an annoyed Jihoon, “I can’t believe you can’t bring yourself to ring the doorbell. Just come in.”

Woojin enters. It’s a scenery that he thinks he’s beginning to get used to, and he follows Jihoon into his room, where Jihoon has already laid out a set of clothes that he wants to wear.

Jihoon’s hair's still wet though, dripping at the edges, so Woojin takes it upon himself to head back to the washroom to grab a towel. When he comes back, he pushes Jihoon onto the chair gently and starts to towel his hair dry. “You’re going to get a cold if you don’t dry your hair in winter. Wouldn’t want my boyfriend to fall sick.”

jihoon rolls his eyes. “Well, you’re here now. So you can dry it for me.”

Woojin bites at his lower lip as continues to towel Jihoon’s hair. It’s strangely domestic. But he keeps the thought to himself. “How’s your arm?”

“I guess it’s getting better,” Jihoon says. “You’d have to bring me back to the hospital for a check up. It’s in the _boyfriend protocol_.”

Woojin wants to say that he’d have done it even without them being boyfriends. But he settles for, “Alright, princess.”

When Woojin deems that Jihoon’s hair is dry enough, he heads outside to the balcony so that he can let the towel dry. Then he’s walking back to the room to help Jihoon undress, so that he can change. By now, they’ve gotten used to Woojin helping Jihoon to undress and dress himself and Jihoon lies down even before Woojin tells him to do so.

But there’s something about how they have changed since the first day, and Woojin finds his hands lingering on Jihoon’s waist for a moment longer than he should, and he snaps the fresh underwear up, and it grounds him back to reality.

“Finally,” Jihoon says, as Woojin adjusts the coat on him and crouches down so he can tie his shoelace. “Time to go, chop, chop.”

Woojin’s about to say something in response, but he lifts his head too quick, too fast—and suddenly Jihoon’s face is right in front of his own, and they are so fucking close that Woojin knows that he just needs to lean in, and he’d be pressing into Jihoon’s face, into Jihoon’s lips.

And he jerks back, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

He stands up immediately, hand curving around the doorknob and holds the door. He waits for Jihoon to walk out of the door, before he closes it behind him.

They walk wordlessly to where Woojin has his car parked. When they near his car, Woojin makes sure to pick up his pace, so that he opens the door for Jihoon. He heads over to the driver’s side, and pulls the seatbelt over Jihoon again. It’s strange: how they’ve entered into some sort of routine like this.

“I got you breakfast,” Woojin points out as he turns on the engine to the car. He nudges to sandwich that’s sitting by the drinks. “Iced Americano, two pumps hazelnut.”

“Oh.” Jihoon blinks, taking the cup into his hands and taking a sip. He lets out a small hum as the sweet liquid hits his tongue. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Woojin nods.

He turns up the music, in hopes that it’ll drown out the silence that falls on them. He sings aloud, in hopes that it’ll get his mind off Jihoon and _him_. He keeps his eyes on the road, but he thinks, he can see the ghost of a smile that’s hanging on Jihoon’s lips from the side of his eyes.

They reach the tailor several minutes later. Woojin drops Jihoon off first before he drives off to find parking space nearby. So, he’s greeted with a surprise when he reaches the tailor, and Jihoon’s already dressed in his suit and getting the fit checked one last time by the seamstress.

He’s carrying both their cups of coffee, and he finds himself tightening his grip on one of them.

It isn’t the first time that he’s seeing Jihoon dressed, but there’s something about the white dress shirt, the black bow and the dark suit that makes Woojin’s throat grow dry. He never thought that he’d actually see Jihoon in a suit, and here he is, standing in front of him, looking as good as Woojin had imagined him to be.

He takes a large sip of his own cup of coffee, and maybe, Jihoon _can_ read his mind, because he’s smirking at him, “Do I look that good?”

Woojin doesn’t know if he should be honest about his feelings or come back with a witty retort. Playful banter is comfortable territory. Honesty is stepping out of the comfort zone. He takes another sip of coffee, as if it could help him to make a decision of what he should say.

But his eyes meet Jihoon’s own, and Woojin feels a chill run down the spine. He swallows the lump building in his throat again, and he decides that he’d be honest. It’s all about being honest, if he wants to bridge the distance and space between them.

“You do.”

And maybe Jihoon doesn’t quite expect a compliment, probably anticipating a retort or some sorts, because Woojin sees the way the tips of his ears turn red, and he softly says, “... Thanks.”

As if the seamstress senses the tension between them, she moves to the side and Woojin lets his feet carry him to stand in front of Jihoon. He sees the eyes that sparkle with the multitude of emotions that swirl within him, he sees the well-fitted body through the suit, and he sees the stray hairs. And he reaches out to tug the stray hairs behind Jihoon’s ear and fixes his hair. When he deems that it looks good, he takes a step back to look at Jihoon again.

“Yeah,” Woojin decides. “You really look good.”

He wonders how they must look like to the seamstress, to the people who are around them, to the people who don’t know who they are and the history that ties them together. He extends a hand, so that Jihoon can step down from the elevated platform and leads him to the mirror, where Jihoon can take a look at himself.

“It feels surreal,” Jihoon says softly. “I can’t believe Seongwoo hyung’s really getting married.”

“Yeah,” Woojin replies, “It feels like just yesterday when he’d tease us for always being together. And now, he’s settling down for the rest of his life.”

Woojin can’t put himself in Jihoon’s shoes. Not when he’s the older brother with a younger sister, who would probably get married after he does. He can’t quite imagine how it’s like to be Jihoon, to have to watch his older brother settle into a new chapter of his life, one filled with so much happiness but uncertainty at the same time.

He doesn’t realise that they are still holding hands, not until Jihoon tugs on his hand and says, “I have to get changed.”

“Oh,” Woojin retracts his hand, like it has suddenly caught fire.

Jihoon doesn’t say anything. He never does. And then he’s walking away from Woojin, and the seamstress follows after him.

They stop by at the chicken place again to grab lunch before Woojin sends Jihoon home. It’s halfway when Woojin’s driving them back that Jihoon suddenly says, “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I forgot to write my speech for hyung’s wedding.”

“What,” Woojin deadpans. “How do you even forget something like that? Isn’t the rehearsal _tomorrow_?”

“I was occupied with other things, alright?” Jihoon huffs, crossing his arms and leaning back into the seat. He scrunches his eyebrow together, and he’s biting at his nails.

Woojin _knows_ that it’s what Jihoon does whenever he’s nervous, so he tries to put as much sincerity into his voice as possible, and he reaches out to lay his hand on Jihoon’s thigh. “I’ll help you with the wedding speech, if you need my help.”

“You?” Jihoon scoffs. “You have experience in writing them?”

“Youngmin hyung’s older brother got married recently, too. And I was there when he was writing his speech,” Woojin explains. He remembers how Youngmin had been panicking over the speech too. There were too many memories that were fighting for their space in the speech, and Woojin and Donghyun were the ones who sat by Youngmin’s side to help him out. “And I was there to help him out.”

Jihoon looks like he’s doubting him, but he says, “Alright then. Thank you. But when are you taking your hand off my thigh?”

Woojin drives them back to Jihoon’s place. He helps Jihoon to change into home clothes. He finds himself reaching out to the pair of freshly washed pink sweatshirt and pants he washed for Jihoon the other day. He knows what it means to the both of them, but he still takes them out, and he pulls it over Jihoon. He wants to hope that there’s a reason why Jihoon still has them, and even brought it along to Busan, when he could have easily thrown them out after he moved to Seoul.

They settle in the living area, against the couch as Jihoon boots up his laptop so that _they_ can start working on the speech.

“So what do you want to talk about in your speech?” Woojin asks, after Jihoon stares at the blank document that’s opened up. He starts typing something for an introduction. Introductions are easy. Jihoon just needs to introduce himself. It’s the body of the speech that’s tough, and Woojin knows that it isn’t an easy job to find the words.

Jihoon purses his lips together. “But there’s so much I want to say.”

“Well, you could bring up a funny anecdote that involves them both, from your perspective so that it’s something that Minhyun hyung and Seongwoo hyung wouldn’t have realized,” Woojin suggests. “Or maybe something funny that Seongwoo hyung did in the past?”

Jihoon nods, and it looks like he has something that he could write about, but his fingers still lay on the keyboard.

Woojin leaves Jihoon at the table for a while to make Jihoon a cup of tea as he tries to find the right words. When he’s done and walking back to the living area, Jihoon’s typing away quickly, a look of concentration and determination on his face, and it puts a smile on his face.

He leaves the tea at the side of table.

Woojin doesn’t realise when he’s fallen asleep, but he gets woken up by harsh tugs on his shoulder. He opens his eyes sleepily, and he’s surprised that the lights in Jihoon’s room are already on, a sign that it’s already night. Damn. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep, much more, fall asleep for so long.

“You’re all good with the speech?” Woojin asks. “Want me to look through it or something?”

Woojin watches the way Jihoon muses for a moment, before he nods. “That’d be nice.”

He reads through the speech as quickly as he can. It’s nice, really. Woojin can sense the little bits of humour in the speech that makes it uniquely Jihoon, and the personal anecdote that would definitely make Seongwoo and Minhyun chuckle.

“I think it’s great,” Woojin comments.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.”

“That’s good.” Jihoon nods.

The conversation stills for a moment, but Jihoon’s picking it up again, in a softer voice. “Doesn’t it make your heart clench? The kind of love that Seongwoo hyung and Minhyun hyung have for each other.”

Woojin bites at his lower lip. He knows what Jihoon’s talking about. He remembers being at Youngmin’s older brother’s wedding himself, looking at the way they exchanged vows and promised to be with each other until death. It’s a love that’s so powerful that it made Woojin weak in the knees, and he remembers wondering when will he find a love like that, of his own.

“It does,” Woojin admits. “We’ll find it one day, I guess.”

Jihoon looks straight into Woojin’s eyes. It’s piercing, and Woojin can see the unsaid emotions that swirl in his eyes, that had always been so damn expression.

“Yeah, we will.”

 

 

**_Jihoon_ **

The wedding rehearsal is quick and relatively painless. The wedding planner did a wonderful job. Everything is so completely Minhyun and Seongwoo, it almost makes Jihoon sick to his stomach. Jihoon practices walking down the aisle with Jonghyun, Minhyun’s best friend and best man. His older sister, Sujin, had only been a little disappointed she didn’t get to be in the wedding, but she hadn’t wanted to be a _best man_ and Minhyun had refused to have a bridesmaid. As Seongwoo’s younger brother, his gender hadn’t saved him.

He stands beside Seongwoo as he makes up some fake vows, which earn him a charming smile from Minhyun and several chuckles. Minhyun, on the other hand, just uses the opportunity to shamelessly flirt.

They’re so in love.

For the first time, though, Jihoon doesn’t want _their_ kind of love. He doesn’t need Minhyun’s shameless flirting. He doesn’t need Seongwoo’s particular brand of adoration. Jihoon hates how what he needs is insults and teasing and play-fighting and a fucking snaggletoothed grin.

After the rehearsal, Seongwoo, their parents, Minhyun, and his parents all go to dinner together at a small family restaurant. It’s the last time they’ll be eating as two separate families. Jihoon hates how he feels like there’s someone missing at the table. After dinner, they all check into the hotel where the wedding and the reception will be. Minhyun and Seongwoo give each other a quick kiss, and then they go into different rooms.

Minhyun stays with Jonghyun. Seongwoo shares a room with Jihoon.

As soon as the door shuts behind Seongwoo, he runs his fingers through his hair. “Fuck. I’m getting married tomorrow. To Minhyun.” He looks at Jihoon, his eyes glistening.

“Are you scared?” Jihoon asks, sitting on his bed.

“Yeah,” he says, but it’s more like a sigh that tumbles out of him. He sits on the bed opposite of Jihoon. “But I’m excited, too. And happy. Terrified. I’d really like to be with Minhyun right now. Why aren’t we staying in the same room again?”

“Tradition, hyung.”

“Right. Fucking tradition. We’re not very traditional, so why’d we want to uphold this one? That was stupid. That was so stupid. When you get married to Woojin, don’t do this.” He leans back on his hands and stares at the ceiling. Then he closes his eyes and releases a long breath. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

Jihoon chuckles. “Hyung, help me get out of my shirt, will you?”

“Sure.” He’s not nearly as delicate as Woojin, but it’s better than sleeping in a button-down shirt and dress pants. “How’d you get into this?”

“With a lot of struggle. Woojin’s been helping me, but I didn’t want to make him come over just to dress me.” Once he’s out of his shirt, he undresses and starts throwing on his pajamas.

Seongwoo laughs at him a little more than he’d like, of course. “Has Woojin been helping you get dressed and undressed since you broke your arm? Maybe you two _are_ dating. That’s love right there.”

Jihoon pauses. No, actually, he freezes.

“What, have you not two said those magical little words to each other?”

It’d be so easy to lie. Seongwoo basically gave him one. He finishes pulling his cast through his shirt arm then pulls his other arm through and tugs it over his head. Then he says, “We’re not dating, hyung. I was sick of you asking me when I’d get a boyfriend and you teasing me about being single, so I figured I’d shut you up for a few months and then just suffer through the ridicule during your wedding. Honestly, I figured it’d be a good wedding present.”

Seongwoo does not seem surprised. “You are correct. It’s a fantastic wedding present. But Woojin—”

Jihoon flops onto the bed and covers his face with his hands. “The story wasn’t completely made up. He did run into me. I didn’t break my arm by falling down, hyung. He hit me with his car. He felt so bad that he actually offered to help me out, and I took advantage of it.”

“He hit you?” Seongwoo says. “With _his car_? Okay. I’m going to murder him for that, but also, you conned Woojin into pretending to be your boyfriend for my wedding so I would shut up about you getting a boyfriend?” There’s a bite to Seongwoo’s voice that makes Jihoon feel ten kinds of awful, sick, unworthy. “That’s pretty shitty, even for you. I hope you see that.”

“I do. Trust me. But it’s been nice.” His voice breaks, and he hates it. “I… I don’t think I ever got over him. And spending all this time with him has been awful and amazing. And I don’t know what to do, hyung. I’m in love with Park Woojin and after your wedding we’re going to mean nothing to each other again.”

“You’re being stupid,” Seongwoo says. “Come here.”

Jihoon sighs with his entire being, then he rolls out of bed and flops onto Seongwoo’s. He’s laying on his side now, and he has an arm waiting for Jihoon to wrap around. He fixes Jihoon’s hair, then he pats Jihoon’s chest before settling a hand over his heart.

“Three things,” Seongwoo says. “First, I’m proud of you for making Woojin wait on you hand and foot after breaking your arm. Good call. Second, you need to apologize to me. You lied to me and our friends and our family, and you took advantage of Woojin’s kindness like an A-grade asshole.”

“I’m sorry. Really. I am.”

“And, third, you need to tell him how you feel. That’s the only way you’ll live to see a day where I’m not going to mock you for this. It doesn’t matter if he returns your feelings or not. You need to be honest. Got it?”

When Jihoon turns into his embrace, Seongwoo pulls him closer, rubs his back.

“Got it,” Jihoon says. “I love you, hyung.”

“I love you, too. Roll over and turn off the light. We’re sleeping together tonight. And I will expect this favor to be returned when you get married to Woojin.”

Jihoon does. Then they both slip under the covers before Jihoon returns to his spot in Seongwoo’s arms. As he listens to Seongwoo’s breathing slow, he imagines what it’d be like to have a future with Woojin.

 

 

**_Woojin_ **

It’s another early morning on the day of the wedding itself.

Woojin heads over early so that he can help Jihoon dress himself. He’s donned a suit of his own, from the time that he had a suit made for Youngmin’s brother’s wedding. It’s convenient that everything will be held in the same hotel that they’ve booked the rooms in. He helps Jihoon put on his shirt, slides him into the pants and the blazer and he bends down to tie the shoelaces of his dress shoes.

When he looks up, there’s a certain gaze in Jihoon’s eyes that reveal his vulnerability, the rawness of the emotions that he’s going through as the reality of Seongwoo getting married sinks in.

Woojin reaches up to cup Jihoon’s face in his hands, and he says, “You can do this.”

Jihoon takes a deep breath before nodding. “Thanks.”

Woojin stands up and he extends his arm so that Jihoon can loop his hands through it. It’s a little early for them to be doing that, considering that the wedding’s on a different floor by itself, but it seems to give Jihoon a sense of security, a sense of comfort, so Woojin does it.

The wedding goes as smoothly as it can. He’s sitting slightly far away from the aisle, but he gets a good view of the aisle if he turns his head. He finds his breath hitching as he watches Jihoon walk down the carpeted ground with Jonghyun. He watches as Minhyun and Seongwoo exchange vows, the promises of eternity and forever under the watchful eyes of the people who matter to them.

Woojin finds his heart clenching at the very sight, of how Minhyun and Seongwoo look at each other like they are the only two people in this room, that there’s nothing else that matters in the world as long as they have each other. There are billions of people in the world out there, and it seems so surreal that they managed to find each other, and are taking the step to start a brand new chapter of their lives together.

He can’t take the romanticist out of him, as Jihoon had reminded him. Woojin swallows the lump growing in his throat, as he thinks of how he wants to find a love like that—a love so strong, a love so pure. And as he thinks of that, he finds his gaze landing on Jihoon.

Jihoon, who looks at Seongwoo and Minhyun with the most tender gaze of affection. He thinks of the times that they have spent together: of the soft laughter on grass patches, of the witty banter that they exchange, of the moment of tension (be it good or bad) that arise. There’s so much painful memories that he could associate Jihoon with, but all Woojin wants to think about is the happy times, Jihoon’s smile that could rival the sun—and how he _wants_ to be walking down that aisle together with Jihoon.

But he doesn’t know if Jihoon feels the same.

Woojin doesn’t get to see Jihoon for the next few hours, as he’s engaged in the _pyebaek_ , which involves only the immediate family members of the couple. He spends the hours in a cafe across the street from the hotel, where he takes tiny sips from the americano that he ordered on a whim.

He’s never been the type to appreciate an americano. He’s always preferred milk in his. But as the barista was staring back at him, he had said that he wanted an americano, two pumps hazelnut.

It’s meant to taste bittersweet: the bitter nodes of coffee intermingling with the sweetness of hazelnut. So he wonders why it feels so sour on his tongue.

His heart gives him the answer.

It’s because he wants Park Jihoon so fucking much.

Jihoon’s loosening the bow tie around his neck when Woojin walks into his room. It’s about an hour before the reception party starts, and it’s when Jihoon has to say his speech to the rest of the people in the room.

“How are you doing?” Woojin asks.

“Ugh,” Jihoon groans, jumping backwards onto the bed as he throws the bowtie to the side. “I’m so tired already. And I still have a speech to say later. I’m going to die from all the nerves.”

Woojin chuckles, but he settles to sit down at Jihoon’s side. He nudges at him to sit up, so he can take the blazer off and he presses his hands onto Jihoon’s shoulder, massaging him and stretching out the kinks that have made their way there. Jihoon groans at the massage, and Woojin smiles to himself when he feels the kinks loosening, and Jihoon turns back with a small smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Woojin replies. Then, he’s undressing Jihoon again, changing him into another outfit meant for the wedding reception. He lets his hands linger for moments too long, but Jihoon doesn’t say anything and so he lets himself bask in the minute moments of intimacy that he still can share with Jihoon, until the day is over and there is no longer a need for him to pretend that he’s Jihoon’s boyfriend, and they will go back to being strangers.

He feels his heart being pricked by a thousand needles at that very thought. But it’s reality, albeit, a reality that he doesn’t want to come to terms with.

But it’s easier to keep the thoughts of fear within his throat, so he swallows them down with a gulp and he pats at Jihoon’s shoulder when he’s done.

“Time to blow everyone away with your amazing speech.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m being honest,” Woojin says. He stops in his steps, where he had been leading Jihoon out of the room, to hold onto Jihoon’s hand. “You’ll do well. And Seongwoo hyung and Minhyun hyung would be proud of you.”

Jihoon looks at him. Woojin sees the sincerity and gratitude that lies in the clear eyes. “Thank you.”

They reach the hall for the reception party quickly. It’s filled with more people that they know, Woojin can remember the faces from the bachelor parties that he’s been to over the past few days. They head into the venue first, so Jihoon gets to test out the microphone, the sound system, to make sure that everything’s working right for the final time before he has to say his speech.

Jihoon comes down from the stage when he’s run through the final check. Woojin can see the way he’s trembling slightly, from the nerves that threaten to engulf him, and he takes Jihoon’s hand in his own. He doesn’t say anything, and he feels Jihoon’s hand still in his own. He offers him a reassuring smile, and his heart clenches when Jihoon returns it.

The crowd starts to stream in. It’s only minutes more before Seongwoo and Minhyun come in too.

It’s showtime.

During the reception dinner, Jihoon clears his throat to start off his speech. He’s fumbling slightly, to place the paper with his speech onto the podium. Woojin doesn’t know if Jihoon can see him from where he’s sitting, but he gives him a thumbs up. It makes his heart feel less tight, at the thought that he can’t do anything to reassure Jihoon right now.

“Hi. I’m Jihoon, Seongwoo’s younger brother. It’s kind of a strange feeling for me to be up here tonight, to _sing praises about Seongwoo hyung_ , because that’s just weird. Our relationship has been founded more on teases and playful punches, not praises. But he’s still my older brother, an important figure in my life, who’s always ready to listen to me whenever I do stupid shit.

“I watched Seongwoo hyung fall for Minhyun hyung. He couldn’t stop talking about Minhyun hyung all the way through every dinner in high school. I think I found out Minhyun hyung loved cleaning during their sophomore year. And then, Minhyun hyung started coming over to our place all the time in their junior year. I can’t forget how much brain bleach I wanted to drink after hearing Minhyun hyung flirt with hyung and seeing the way hyung flirted back with him, without even knowing. He was so stupid.”

Jihoon pauses in his speech to look at Seongwoo, to make sure that everyone knows that he’s talking to Seongwoo. “Mom and Dad don’t know this, but didn't you return really late one night your senior year? And Minhyun was with you. You snuck him into your room. You thought I didn't notice."

The crowd laughs at the way Seongwoo turns bright red, all the way to the tips of his ears. Minhyun just hits his back. Woojin laughs together with the rest of the audience.

“But that was when I realized that you _did_ know you had feelings for him. Every time you flirted with him after that, I realized you did it with full knowledge. I watched you two fall deeper and deeper in love with each other although neither of you wanted to _do_ anything about it. But it always seemed like that was okay because you were Minhyun hyung and Seongwoo hyung. That was just how you were.

“When you two finally got together in college, I might have been the most surprised. Not because I didn’t know you two were disgustingly in love with each other. But because I didn’t realize you two needed to be boyfriends. I didn’t know you needed to be married. That was when I realized that over time, your relationship changed, evolved. You two had grown up together. And here they are now, with promised forevers and a love that’s so strong, a love that I admire a lot. There are so many people in the world, billions of people, but you two managed to find each other. And I think that’s amazing.

“I never thought that I'd meet someone that would make me realize that the love that Seongwoo hyung and Minhyun hyung have is something that maybe I could have, too. But then I did.”

Jihoon pauses for a moment and he looks straight at Woojin.

_Wait._

_What?_

That was  _not_ part of the speech that Woojin remembers reading.

Seongwoo turns to look at him, and Woojin widens his eyes in confusion. But Jihoon’s already moving onto the next part of his speech:

"I hope all of you have someone like that, too, or that you will find that person soon, among the billions of people in this world.

“You’ve always been an important figure to me, hyung. I wish you all the best for the future, and I’m glad that we’re all here today, to be able to witness you and Minhyun hyung embarking on the next chapter of your lives.

“Congratulations, hyung.”

Everyone claps as Jihoon bows in Seongwoo and Minhyun’s direction. Woojin doesn’t miss the stray tear that escapes both Seongwoo and Jihoon’s eyes. He stands up from his seat to walk to where Jihoon’s wiping his eyes backstage. Sujin takes the stage next, to deliver her own speech as Minhyun’s older sister.

Woojin wonders if he should mention anything about what Jihoon had said midway in his speech. It still makes the tips of his ears heat up at the very memory of it, but he sees the small figure that Jihoon has become, and he decides against it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Jihoon.

“You did well.”

The party follows the reception dinner. It’s true to every fibre of Seongwoo’s being: alcohol and dancing. One of Seongwoo’s friends is doing the DJ-ing for the night and everyone laughs at how Seongwoo pulls Minhyun into dancing together with him. It starts out sweet and slow, and then, it’s turning into a funny dance—and it’s sort of a brand of humour that belongs uniquely to the both of them.

Woojin doesn’t miss the way Seongwoo looks at them from the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow, as if egging him on to hug, to hold hands, to touch each other. Woojin finds himself stiffening from the thought. It’s embarrassing to have Jihoon say that in front of all the people out there. It’s even more embarrassing now that the moment has passed, and everyone _knows_ who he is. There’s a silent pressure that’s in the air, and Woojin finds himself walking towards an open bar, and ordering shots for himself.

“You’re stupid,” Woojin hears Jihoon’s voice from the side, as he downs a single shot.

“What,” Woojin squints.

“Why are you even drinking so much?” Jihoon asks. “You’re drinking as if you’re fucking sad, but it’s a fucking happy night.”

Woojin purses his lips together. Jihoon’s right. It’s a happy night for Seongwoo and Minhyun. But here he is, acting like he just got dumped or something. And he’s the farthest person away from being dumped. Jihoon had basically confessed to him through the speech.

“Did you mean what you said?” Woojin finds himself asking. It’s a little too easy for him to be honest, to say the words that he’s been bottling all along when he’s drunk. Maye he should have done it earlier. So he and Jihoon can stop being in this fucking limbo.

Jihoon’s doesn’t reply. Woojin watches the way his mouth opens and closes. He knows that he’s trying to find the right words to say, so Woojin lets him take his time. So he doesn’t expect Jihoon to call the bartender over, ordering another shot for himself. Maybe it’s the same for Jihoon too: that it becomes easier to be honest with himself, to be honest with _him_ if there’s a slight haze that covers his mind. There’s some sort of reassurance that hey, if things don’t work out right, they would wake up sober and blame it on the alcohol.

Jihoon downs the shot when it’s presented in front of him. He lets it sit in his throat for a while, before he finds his voice. “I did. I meant it. I really like you, Park Woojin.”

_What?_

Woojin’s heart skips a beat. He widens his eyes as best as he can, and it suddenly feels that the alcohol that he’s ingested has been absorbed by his liver completely, and his mind is clear. It only focuses on the words that Jihoon had just said: _I really like you. I really like you. I really like you_.

It’s the words that he’s been waiting to hear this whole time.

There’s something about it that makes Woojin insecure, that he’s saying it because of all the love that’s thick in the air, and the alcohol that has entered their systems.

But Woojin wants to believe in the chances, so he presses his lips against Jihoon’s. He thinks of all the Korean dramas that he’s glimpsed on television when Yerim watched them. He thinks it’s just like those moments where nothing else exists in the world around them, and Woojin can see fireworks blossoming in his mind.

They kiss, like as if the bartender isn’t in front of them, as if they aren’t in a party where everyone else is dancing and having fun. Woojin’s arms find their way around Jihoon’s neck, so he can pull Jihoon down, closer and deeper, so that he can taste more of Jihoon’s sweetness that lie hidden underneath the sour alcohol that remains on his tongue.

“I love you,” Woojin whispers when they pull away, gasping for oxygen.

“Me too,” Jihoon murmurs. “I love you so much.”

And then they are kissing each other again, catching up on all the lost years of affection and longing. They kiss, kiss, kiss and then, Jihoon’s pulling him over to the dance floor.

It should be like what happened at the club, but it isn’t. Jihoon’s looking at him with a gaze of absolute tenderness and love. And Woojin feels like he’s tethering at the edges, struggling to stay afloat from the sheer intensity of it. He places his hands on Jihoon’s sides, swaying to the music that’s suddenly turned on to a sweet love song.

Woojin would never have thought that they’d be standing here like this, dancing and staring at each other with honey glazed eyes.

“Want to head back to your room?” Woojin murmurs.

Jihoon nods.

He looks so fucking small like this: flushed cheeks and soft pants. And Woojin wants to keep him for himself, only himself.

Jihoon lets himself be led by Woojin back to his room. Despite the haze clouding his mind, Woojin vaguely remembers Jihoon telling him that he’d be alone for the night as Seongwoo and Minhyun get time to do their disgusting couple things. He isn’t the best person to be leading another drunk person back to his room, though, with the way he’s been stumbling and pulling Jihoon along with him. Woojin’s clutching desperately into Jihoon’s hand, as if Jihoon would let go if he didn’t keep the tight grip. Jihoon doesn’t let go, and tries to hold onto Woojin as best as he can. It makes Woojin’s heart clench.

They manage to enter Jihoon’s room with much difficulty. Cards are easier than keys, though. There’s some gratitude in that. So Woojin leads Jihoon over to the bed, and they lie down.

Woojin wonders if he should go. Head back home. But Jihoon’s clutching onto the sides of his dress shirt before he can say anything, and with a strength that Woojin doesn’t expect from Jihoon, he pulls Woojin in for a bruising kiss.

They kiss some more, until the alcohol sets into their bones, in fatigue and tiredness.

But Jihoon’s voice is loud and clear as day, “Don’t go.”

“I won’t.”

So Woojin lays his arm beneath Jihoon’s head. And they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

 

 

**_Jihoon_ **

Jihoon wakes up in Woojin’s embrace, dressed in the outfit he had planned for the reception party. When Woojin’s gaze meets his, last night hits him. Watching his older brother get married to the love of his life. Giving a speech about love in front of more than a hundred people. Confessing in front of all those people that he was in love with Park Woojin. Getting drunk. Telling Woojin again that he liked him. Kissing.

Woojin’s breathless _I love you_.

“Fuck,” Jihoon says, stretching against Woojin.

Woojin chuckles, pulls him closer. “We could.”

“Oh god. Isn’t it too early for crass humor?” But he’s smiling and wrapping his arms around Woojin again. “You should’ve seen your face.”

“When?”

“When I confessed in the speech. You looked like you were going to pass out. You would’ve been less surprised if I’d ended my speech detailing all the ways I hate you. Which I do. I do hate you.” He punctuates this truth with a kiss on the cheek. “What time is it?”

“Then I guess it’s good that I love you enough to make up for that.” He shifts his weight and rolls Jihoon onto his back as he moves between his legs and leans down over him to give him a kiss. His fingers pop open his suit jacket, his hands run down his front. “Last time I checked, it was almost eleven.”

Jihoon bites his bottom lip against the heat starting to grow under his skin and resists his urge to arch his back into Woojin’s touch. “How long ago did you check?”

“Maybe an hour ago? I don’t fucking know. I tend to lose track of time when I’m watching you sleep.” Once Jihoon’s dress shirt is unbuttoned, he gently untucks it from his pants. He starts unbuttoning Jihoon’s pants painfully slow, which makes it hard for Jihoon to think straight.

He wants Woojin’s hands to keep going. He’s a little breathless when he says, “We have to check out at noon.”

“Oh, shit.” Woojin pulls up his shirt sleeve to check his watch. “It’s ten minutes to.” He sets his hands on Jihoon’s hips and bows his back, rests his forehead against Jihoon’s chest. “I should’ve woken you up earlier.”

Jihoon runs his hands through Woojin’s hair. “Instead of watching me sleep? Yes, absolutely, you idiot. How about lunch instead? I think we need to talk.”

“Yes, talking. Yes.” He gives Jihoon a peck on the lips and a smile. Then he chases it with a nervous laughter as he helps Jihoon out of his clothes, this time with a rushed touch.

Jihoon feels every movement in the pit of his stomach, especially because although Woojin’s hurrying, he’s also careful and conscious. He watches Woojin’s hands slide off his shirt one sleeve at a time, slide off his pants one leg at a time. He kisses Jihoon’s shoulder bones, his hip bones, his knees as if confessing his love for Jihoon over and over and over again. Then he finds the spare outfit Jihoon planned and changes him into it.

While Woojin brushes his teeth with the spare toothbrush Jihoon packed in case he lost his, Jihoon organizes his bag. He leaves out another change of clothes for Woojin in case he doesn’t want to stay in his suit the rest of the day and leaves one of his garment bags open for his suit. When Woojin comes back out, Jihoon heads into the bathroom to brush his own teeth. By the time he’s done, Woojin’s in Jihoon’s clothes and everything’s ready to go.

Woojin looks good in Jihoon’s clothes, and there’s something about seeing Woojin in them that puts a smile on Jihoon’s face.

“Usually it’s me borrowing your clothes,” Jihoon says.

“Because I look ridiculous in these neon-colored hoodies of yours.” He points to it as if Jihoon is colorblind.

“But it’s mine so you look good. Let’s go.”

Woojin gives him a look but follows him out of the room. It’s exactly noon when they check out at the front counter in the lobby. He adds the parking fee for Woojin’s car onto his bill. There’s something about having Woojin stand next to him that makes it feel like they shared more than one night in the room together, that makes it feel like they’d checked in together and stayed together just like a couple would.

They drive to the cafe they always used to go to after school and get seated immediately. They place their order from memory, then it’s just them, sitting across from each other, waiting for the other to start.

“Woo—”

“Ji—”

They purse their lips. Jihoon is about to open his mouth when he sees something spark in Woojin’s eyes that tells him to let him speak first.

“Jihoon,” Woojin starts again. He puts his hands on the table, palms up, so Jihoon takes the invitation and puts his hands in his. “I love you. I want to be with you. I want us to work this time. Tell me what I did that made you want to break it off, and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to avoid making the same mistake.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…” God, it was a lot harder to say than he thought it’d be. “I just thought nothing would change. I thought we’d still talk every day, but it took you longer and longer to respond to my texts and we stopped talking every night. And I knew it was just because you were busy with school and dancing and I was busy trying to adjust to Seoul and make new friends. But it hurt. A lot. Instead of telling you, I just broke up with you. I regretted it, too. I think what I wanted was for you to fight for us.”

“I wanted to,” Woojin says. “You blocked my number, Jihoon.”

“I unblocked it,” he whispers. “Two days later.”

Woojin’s eyes widen, then he lowers his head. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I stopped trying too early, didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault. I should’ve tried to talk with you first, before breaking up with you, before trying to cut you out of my life. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“No.” There’s grit in Woojin’s voice that tightens Jihoon’s chest. “No, I fucked up, too. I think I… counted on us not changing too much. I knew I wasn’t texting you enough. I knew you were probably having a hard time. And I knew that you were always the one texting me and asking to schedule calls. I just figured that even if we talked a little less, it wouldn’t matter. Because we’re us. I knew it wasn’t working and I still wanted to believe that we wouldn’t ever have to work for it, you know? I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us the way I should’ve, but I will put in the work this time. I promise.”

Jihoon moves his palms across Woojin’s until he can fit his fingers between his, then entwines them. “Me, too. I’ll visit you. Busan isn’t that far away.”

Woojin snorts. “I hate to break it to you, but I moved to Seoul for college and never came back.”

“You what.”

“You heard me.”

“No one told me?”

“Why would anyone tell you? This should be good news. We won’t be long distance this time. I can come over and help you get undressed anytime you want. Or you can come to my place and I can cook you something.”

“Yeah, but still, fuck you for not telling me this whole time.”

Woojin chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But even if I didn’t live in Seoul, I’d do everything I could to make this work. I want this. More than anything else I’ve ever wanted in my life.”

Jihoon takes a deep breath. “I want it, too. Whether you’re in Busan or Seoul or Tokyo or Taipei or fucking anywhere. Seoul does make it a lot easier, though. That means you can drive me home.”

“It’s a long drive. Are you sure?”

“With you, I’ll love every minute.”

Woojin grins. Their hands separate only when their food arrives. They eat and joke and tease and fight because they really haven’t changed at all. The owner comes out as they’re paying because she recognizes them, and she’s happy to learn that they’re “still dating.” When she finds out that they’re driving back to Seoul, she sends them off with a bunch of free food. They head out, get into Woojin’s car, and it isn’t until they’ve been on the road for an hour that it really sinks into Jihoon.

“It really is a lot better being in your car than being hit by it,” he says.

“You’re really never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“It’s too good to let die, my one and only Chamsae. It’s just too good.”

Woojin finds Jihoon’s hand, and they remain like that for the entire trip, except for when they stop to go to the bathroom, stop to eat, and stop for gas. After the long drive and Seoul glimmers in the near distance, Woojin turns down the radio.

“Am I taking you to your place?” he asks.

“I thought you wanted to take me to yours.”

That gets a grin, snaggletooth and all. He lives in an apartment building in a decent neighborhood. When he opens the door for Jihoon, he steps inside and studies the clean wood floors, the square furniture, the big TV, the made bed, all clean lines in varying shades of black.

“Your place is so you,” Jihoon says, turning to face Woojin as he closes the door.

“Yeah?” He puts his hands on Jihoon’s hips, then they move to the small of his back, then lower.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says on his lips, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Let me show you how much.”

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a really fun collab!! i loved working with rea who is amazing and fantastic and so so talented. i hope we collab again sometime in the future ♡ feel free to follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/slackeuse) or bug me on [cc](http://curiouscat.me/slackeuse)
> 
> \- jess
> 
> thank you for reading this until here! i hope that you enjoyed reading this, as much i had lots of fun writing this together with jess. it's the first collab that i've ever written, and it was lovely and timely that it was for a prompt like this. feel free to bug me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/99izm) or on [cc](https://curiouscat.me/chamwink). ♡
> 
> \- rea


End file.
